


bed fellows

by sodas



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-02
Updated: 2013-10-02
Packaged: 2017-12-28 05:26:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/988223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sodas/pseuds/sodas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fifteen means they have to be quiet. It's not like with Mikasa, because they don't keep things from Mikasa. Before the military, they'd squirrel away from her if they had the dreams, but that was just for courtesy's sake, and they licked their palms and rubbed them clean with hay before tumbling back to either side of her. In the bunks, though, it's different. You get people like Connie who don't shut up about things. You get people like Jean who say 'creepy.'</p>
            </blockquote>





	bed fellows

**Author's Note:**

> everyone is fifteen.

Fifteen means he wakes with the sweats, toes curling with the memory of something from the low tide of a dirty dream: it ebbs. Was it the way someone arched? Something done with a tongue? There are no specifics, only Armin's eyes adjusting to the sight of wood grain in the dark, his wet mouth fallen open. His feet clench hard and it makes his muscles seize up, the curve of his foot twisting painfully. That's how Eren knows he's awake. 

Fifteen means his best friend's known him long enough to recognize when he's laying there with stiff shoulders from a hard day's work, and a stiffer dick. They had shared beds during sleepovers as little kids, seven-year-olds with baby fat and clasped hands whispering heresy underneath the blankets. They'd shared beds, too, when puberty struck, hitting Eren first - a stronger jaw, a few more inches - and then Armin, with his face thinning out a bit and his shoulders a little more defined. They watched each other and it was like a time lapse, there in bed through one night and then another, their twice-monthly blanket forts becoming more detail-oriented. Then came the thick dreams, the damp spots, the cherried lips and ears and cheeks. Mikasa slept soundly in the other room, and she walked strongly beside them in the alleys and down the roads, but Armin and Eren were always shoulder to shoulder, and the scents of their hair mingled together. That was as natural as touching and so they learned to touch, fingers inching over the hems of their trousers and then bumping together inside. Beds, then haystacks and barrels, then barracks: they slept together and sometimes they dreamed in a way that made them nudge with their knees. 

Fifteen means they have to be quiet. It's not like with Mikasa, because they don't keep things from Mikasa. Before the military, they'd squirrel away from her if they had the dreams, but that was just for courtesy's sake, and they licked their palms and rubbed them clean with hay before tumbling back to either side of her. In the bunks, though, it's different. You get people like Connie who don't shut up about things. You get people like Jean who say _creepy._

Armin stays quiet by pressing his wrist to his mouth. The unbuttoned cuff of his sleeve, too, has worked its way in between his teeth, and he grinds them, and he grinds up. Eren is halfway propped up on his side, supporting himself with one hand flat on the bed. The other is disappeared to the wrist in Armin's nighttime trousers. He's jerking with his hand - Armin muffles something good. They work in tandem, a give and a take, and Eren _does_ see it that way even in times like this because the way Armin shuts his eyes hard and reaches up for Eren's cheek is enough to give Eren a hundred dreams of his own later on. Eren palms long and slow but it'll strangle Armin to keep quiet from that, so he slips up instead, thumbing a head gone wet, slick. He wants to tongue it, he realizes, which they've never done before. His compromise is to take Armin's hand away from his mouth, and slide his own two fingers between Armin's lips instead. Armin presses a stilted keen into his hand. 

Fifteen drags of Eren's hand and a good few clumsy thumbings makes Armin's limbs go slack, tongue lax around Eren's fingers. He comes against Eren's palm and wrist, but neither of them feel sullied; they hold hands, and they bump shoulders, and at night they help each other through the fog of their rising hormones. Eren flounders around - hopefully quietly - groping for something on the floor before he finds one of Jean's socks, and he cleans his hand off on it. Armin lays on his side and watches Eren in the dark, and Eren settles back against their pillow. 

They fall asleep with their elbows touching, and Armin thinks about the callouses on the heel of Eren's palm.


End file.
